


Expedite the Request

by lmirandas



Series: Inconvenient [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Gryffindor!John, Honestly I suck at tagging, Hufflepuff!Greg, M/M, Only sport I know a little about, Potterlock, Prompt was sports, Quidditch is a sport, Ravenclaw!Sherlock, Sherlock Challenge October, Slytherin!Mycroft, fic based on fan art, mystrade, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8347021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas
Summary: Greg Lestrade, veela descended Quidditch Captain of the Hufflepuff team was expecting that his first practice with his new seeker went as usual, no surprises, no...strange happenings. But that was not Greg's luck. This practice had a little more results than he was hoping for, but surely, the universe is rarely so lazy, and he got a closer look at the Slytherin Head Boy, the elusive and aloof Mycroft Holmes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my little fic for the October Sherlock Challenge, the prompt for this month was sports. Since I don't know anything about any other sport excluding Quidditch, of course I needed to write a Potterlock fic involving Quidditch, and I wanted to kill two birds with one stone. The amazing [wkndship](http://weekendship.tumblr.com) made [this](http://weekendship.tumblr.com/post/81968684680/it-was-rare-occasion-that-gregory-lestrade-the) amazing fan art and I wanted to write this since I saw it.
> 
> Not brit picked, not betaed, just me having fun. Obviously, as Sherlock himself would say, I don't own the characters in Sherlock, those belong to the BBC and ACD and the world belongs to the Queen of all us Muggles, JK Rowling.

Greg sighed. Clearly this was not going to be his day. He was supposed to be training his new found seeker today, but kicking out said seeker’s friends from the pitch was proving harder than he thought. Who would think a group of first years could be so feisty?

 

“You should realize we could observe the practice undetected if that was our goal. I’m a genius and can plan our success, John is brave and is not scared by your bullying and Irene is the most cunning female in this school.”

 

The curly haired Ravenclaw was giving him a glare with his cold, blue-grey eyes. His blond and short mate was wearing an apologetic face and their Slytherin (yes, they had a Slytherin friend apparently, good for them) girl was smirking at him in a way no eleven-year-old should smirk ever. Like _ever_. That girl was going to be a menace. Thank the stars this was his last year at Hogwarts. Surely, as a seventh year about to go out into the Magical World, he should be supportive of all this inter-house friendship. A group of friends as varied and colorful as this one was really hard to see in Hogwarts, especially with one member of each house. The kids themselves were kind of lonely in their own houses, but they were inseparable when in classes and out of their common rooms, well, except his own Hufflepuff common room where they seemed to feel safe and decided to use it as a shared one. Which was the reason he knew the Ravenclaw kid was serious.

 

“ _Fine._ Fine, stay, but one word from you, from any of you, to your house teams or Captains or basically anyone outside of this pitch and I’m going to hex you all with something worse than a bat bogey hex.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

 

The little blond boy was indeed brave, but a little stupid.

 

“What was it, John? Oh, yes, _I would dare_. And you all should start taking Quidditch a little more seriously. At least for you pal Molly’s sake.”

 

The curly haired Ravenclaw rolled his eyes, Irene continued smirking (seriously, this girl was creepy), but John looked adequately chagrined.

 

“Is it true?”

 

The creepy girl asked him, with an all-knowing tone that he didn’t like one bit.

 

“Sorry, what?”

“That you are half veela.”

“Irene, don’t be so dull. He is obviously half French, and only one fourth veela. His paternal grandmother. His mother and her side of the family are British. Do pay attention.”

 

Greg coughed, almost choking on his own gasp. _How did the kid know all that?_ He had been in this school almost seven years now and he never confirmed or denied his veela relations, but no one, and he meant _no one_ , knew that much detail about his family life. He knew his platinum blond hair (grey more than white) and his tanned skin gave his heritage away to the truly learned. But he always said that it was a spell gone wrong. And stuck by his story.

 

“Funny, I always thought veelas were supposed to be charming, that’s all Sherlock, I wasn’t expecting my daily dose of vitriol.”

“Oi! Ok, that’s it. Not one more word from the lot of you until I’m back in the changing room or you are out of this practice sooner than you can say ‘quaffle’”

 

He took his broom and went to meet his team, all of them waiting for him to settle this little problem and join them. Molly looked frightened to wits end, surely she was expecting him to kick them out, well, she was in for a little surprise. Surely the support would do her some good.

 

He changed quickly and started drawing their strategy for this practice session in the chalkboard, the figures he drew with the enchanted chalk flying through it in a bi-dimensional animation. The new girl was a natural, he had seen her fly when she and her little group of friends were sneaking out for some out of class and clearly forbidden broomstick riding. She was graceful, and wickedly fast, and she was not even using a very new model, just one of the school’s old brooms. He wondered what she could do with a proper one, maybe Professor Hudson will let her have one? He wanted to keep the cup in their house for another year. It’s been three years in a row, since he was made Captain, and surely that was something she appreciated. The girl was a muggleborn, so maybe her parents could not afford it, he should ask her first before he started making his own plans.

 

His team was looking great this year. He was worried about this season since last year, when Michael Dimmock, his previous seeker, decided to leave the Quidditch team to concentrate on his O.W.L. scores for this year. He couldn’t blame him, he really couldn’t, but that had left him with scarce time to find and train a new seeker, a new seeker that he didn’t know and needed to adapt his or her playing to his already-works-like-a-well-oiled-machine team. He didn’t expect to find a little jewel like Molly Hooper, especially among the first years. He had two great beaters, Mike Stamford and Tobias Gregson, a decent keeper in Phil Anderson, and the whole school agreed that the combination of Greg Lestrade, James Hopkins and Kate McAddams as chasers was a force to be reckoned with. They worked great with each other, almost as if they were reading each other’s minds.

 

“Ok, now you all know the drill, as soon as I let the quaffle loose we practice trying to score against Anderson. Three formation plan for Chaser practice today. Stamford and Gregson, try to knock us out of our brooms, but do mind Molly, this is the first time she practices with us and she doesn’t know how to avoid your sorry arses yet. Molly I’m going to release the Snitch, don’t worry about it, take your time to take the feel of the pitch. If and when you catch it, release it again and let it take a ten-minute advantage before you go after it a second time. Now, everybody out on the pitch. On your brooms in five!”

 

This, this was his one true love. Flying, feeling the air on his face, the speed as he raced through the Quidditch pitch, his moves were instinct, he never thought what his next move was, he just _did_ and that was amazing. With his careful planning, his team knew exactly what they had to do. The only thing he had to be careful about today was taking care that neither Stamford or Gregson threw his new keeper off her broom.

* * *

 

“Mycroft?”

 

Mycroft Holmes, Hogwarts Head Boy and proud member of House Slytherin was reading the Daily Prophet in their dungeon common when fifth year prefect Anthea Nott came looking for him, with a worried look on her face. Clearly his peaceful and quiet afternoon had just been fed to the Giant Squid.

 

“What is it my darling?”

“Your brother…”

 

Mycroft’s sigh could be heard in the Headmistress’s office.

 

“Where is he? Off with his friends in the Forbidden Forest? Hogsmeade? London?”

“Actually, he is at the Quidditch pitch, according to your tracking spell, and I wanted to alert you because the last time they were flying without permission they were discovered by a seventh year, who didn’t report it to the prefects.”

“That’s… well, it is Sherlock. I hate to be biased, but I can’t allow my idiotic little brother to be expelled. So?”

“So, I just wanted to alert you, in case some more illegal flying is taking place, before someone else notices and he does get expelled.”

 

Mycroft sighed again.

 

“Do you want me to take care of it?”

 

She was wearing her most patronizing expression, which really didn’t suit her at all.

 

“No, no, my dear. I should take care of this myself.”

“They are on the Quidditch pitch.”

“So?”

“So, in the five years I’ve had the pleasure of knowing you, Mycroft Holmes, you have never, and I mean _never_ , gone to the Quidditch pitch of this school for anything. Do you need me to lead the way?”

 

She was smirking now, and Mycroft decided to give her the trademark Holmes glare. Which didn’t work on her anymore, damnation.

 

“I don’t need your guidance, thank you very much. I appreciate if you keep me posted of everything that’s going on. The usual way. Patronus for emergency, our notebook if it can be delayed.”

“Very well, see you later Mycroft. We are meeting the rest of the prefects after dinner today. Inter-house meeting and bonding.”

“Oh God, I think I might need to Muffliato them again if my brother vexes me too much.”

“Please don’t, the last time you did that they started spreading rumors that our Head Boy was a little touched in the head.”

“Very funny.”

 

He was so comfortable in his armchair and he finally had the common room all to himself. Sherlock was going to pay for making him do his own legwork. If three years as a prefect in Hogwarts had taught him something, it was to delegate. Unfortunately, family matters were usually better dealt with in person.

* * *

 

The practice was going great; Greg could feel the House Cup in his hands again this year! He wanted to leave Hogwarts with a bang. He had been a good Quidditch captain, and he couldn’t finish his last year without the cup. Molly was superb in catching the snitch, especially when she thought no one was looking at her. They could work on her nerves later; she was going to be amazing once she practiced a little more. He could almost rub his hands in anticipation, too bad he needed at least one to stir his broom. His movements were fast, but not as automatic as usual, he had to keep an eye on Molly. The rest of the team he knew was flying okay, great even, but his eyes kept going back to his new found seeker. So, really, he couldn’t really blame Gregson when he missed the bludger going his way.

 

“GREG! Look out!”

* * *

 

This abominable Quidditch pitch is enormous. He thought he would never have to set foot in this place. Mycroft avoided the sport like the plague, too many people, too much noise, and inter-house agitation. Surely everyone knew this game only helped fuel rivalries between houses that already hated each other. On their last meeting, the seventh year Gryffindor prefect and Quidditch captain, Sally Donovan, was seriously distressed, something about breaking up with her longtime boyfriend over losing against his team. Philip Anderson was no catch, and surely she was better off without him, not that he cared, but to terminate one’s partnership over something as vapid as _Quidditch_? Oh, damnation, how did he wind up on the floor of the accursed pitch? No matter, he saw what he needed to see.

 

His brother was not where he was supposed to be, but he was not doing anything dangerous for a change. Which was interesting, he didn’t suppose his brother had any interest in the broomstick game at all. Probably just being complacent with his little group of friends, which frankly intrigued him immensely. All of them thick as thieves since day one, meeting on the Hogwarts express and staying close to each other even though all four of them were sorted into different houses. Always shared at least one class with one another, and the rumor mill said they always sat together. Holmes and Watson, Adler and Hooper, two girls and two boys that spent every single free minute together, preferring the outdoors to each lonely common room, except the Hufflepuff one, where he had prefects as eyes and ears. But when they decided to venture outside the castle usually that meant trouble for them (him, really). Ah, apparently one of the fantastic foursome was missing from the bleachers. Could it be? He lifted his eyes up just in time to see a broom and its occupant skyrocketing directly to him. Praying to an unknown deity that his non-verbal spells would work fast as he pulled his wand from his robes, he thought: _Protego!_ _Arresto momentum!_

* * *

 

What was this guy doing on the floor of the Quidditch pitch? Never mind that his spell work probably just saved them both from a terrible accident. He was hovering just above the young wizard, whose pale skin, blue eyes and… were those…freckles? Yes, freckles, over a long but chiseled nose. He was mesmerized, he needed to gather his wits to talk to this boy.

 

“I’m so sorry, got hit by a bludger square in the back, are you all right?”

 

This has to be the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, George, no Greg Lestrade. _Gregory_. Average student, but very hard working, a Hufflepuff through and through, loyal, popular among the ladies, platinum silver hair with tanned skin and brown puppy dog eyes who were looking at him straight in his. Barely a distance between them, he could almost feel him breath when he finally spoke, words of concern and was that…? Interest? _In him_? Mycroft Holmes, use your brain and free yourself of this compromising situation.

 

“Quite all right, now, if we could just get up...”

“By Merlin, I’m so sorry!”

 

Greg stood up in one quick jump, extending his hand to the boy on the floor, finally looking at something other than his regal face. _Shit, where did that come from?_ Slytherin robes, he was sure he had seen this boy before. Oh no, it can’t be? _Oh, no, no, no._ This is the HEAD BOY, the Slytherin genius who sat in every class in the back, who arrived last and left first, so he could oversee everything like the dark overlord rumor said he was. Mycroft Holmes only barely spoke to prefects, sitting with them and ruling over them like they were his minions more than his classmates.

 

Mycroft took the boy’s extended hand and he felt like an electric current was going throughout his body. He kept looked at their joined hands for what felt like an eternity, before finally coming back to reality.

 

“Is it common for the Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team to fall of his broom into unsuspecting bystanders? I would not think that was the way of winning matches.”

“I didn’t think you followed Quidditch, isn’t that far from your usual concerns?”

“Everything that happens in this school is my concern, Gregory.”

“Greg. Just call me Greg, only my grandma calls me Gregory.”

“I abhor diminutives in names.”

“So Gregory it is. Mycroft Holmes, right?”

“Yes, that is my name.”

“Well, Mycroft, I’ve never seen you on the Quidditch pitch. You shouldn’t be on the ground; it can be dangerous.”

“So it seems, especially when people tend to fall of their brooms.”

“I told you, a bludger hit me from behind. What are you doing here?”

 

Mycroft lifted his gaze to the bleachers, which Greg followed to the group of miscreants talking to his new found seeker, she was hovering just above them, managing to control her broom in a way no eleven-year-old should be able to.

 

“Ah? One of them related to you? Let me guess, the Slytherin… no, _definitely_ the rude Ravenclaw boy. I can see some resemblance.”

 

Mycroft snorted at that, something so much unlike his usual reaction that he even surprised himself.

 

“Don’t tell him that, ever, or you will find yourself hexed before you know it. He knows to many curses for an eleven-year-old. Did you find your footing? Or you tend to fall when you are not on your broomstick too?”

“I don’t see you letting go of my hand either, you know.”

 

And with that Mycroft removed his hand, as if burned. Greg felt a loss he was not expecting.

 

“If you are worried about them, I can see that they each return safely to their common rooms or _my_ common room, at least, after practice.”

“See that you do just that. Thank you, Gregory.”

“Any time, Mycroft. After all, I have to care about my team members. That girl is going to be a hell of a player. Not that you care about Quidditch.”

 

Mycroft made a show of straightening his robes before turning and leaving the way he had come from. Half, no, one fourth Veela. Surely _that_ had to be it.

 

“Goodbye Mycroft! See you around?”

 

Greg shouted at his back with enough intensity to make him look back.

 

“Indeed. Until the next time, Gregory.”

 

He walked faster, and the moment he was out of sight he started scribbling in his notebook, his usual elegant and loopy handwriting a little shaken.

 

_I need to know everything there is to know about the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain._

**_Oh? Really?_ **

If handwriting could express amusement, he was sure that was what he would see on display in the page right before him. He knew his friend too well, but, unfortunately, that went both ways.

_He volunteered to look after Sherlock and his friends. Yes, REALLY._

**_On it._ **

_And, Anthea?_

**_Yes, Mycroft?_ **

_Expedite this request._

**_Sure thing._ **


End file.
